


Falling

by himynameisv



Series: Three of Us Against the World [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Thor: The Dark World, can be read as a standalone, how fun, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himynameisv/pseuds/himynameisv
Summary: After purposefully losing the attack on Midgard, Loki relaxes, thinking he can rest now that the threat of Thanos has mostly been averted. Of course, he's never gotten what he wanted. Can mostly be read as a standalone.
Relationships: Frigga | Freyja & Loki (Marvel), Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Series: Three of Us Against the World [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028131
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> “Oh darling, you are so very broken and no one cares to notice"
> 
> A/N: Yeah, so this installment was a bit harder to write because there's really nothing we don't already know. Loki loses in Avengers 1, is imprisoned in Asgard, escapes, and then fakes his death in Thor 2. Also, he's pretty far removed from all the drama happening with Gamora and Nebula, which is why, aside from a few mentions, it can honestly be read as a standalone.
> 
> So I went through a bunch of prompt memes searching for inspiration, came across this quote, and was immediately given a bunch of ideas for this fic (and another headcanon). Please read and let me know what you think!

Dying would have been easier.

He thinks this, as he walks round and round his glorified prison cell. _Alive_ , still breathing.

Dying would have certainly been easier, and it isn't cowardly if life simply has no more to offer him. If he had died in the Void, he wouldn't have had to suffer all the more. If he had died in the Void, he wouldn't know how it feels to have one's magic torn away, bent and broken. If he had died in the Void, Thor wouldn't be looking at him like he is a stranger.

Like he isn't his brother.

(But that's the ugly truth, isn't it?)

"I still don't understand, Loki." He has long since learned not to call him 'brother'. They are not, and never have been.

"Understand what? There are many things you don't understand with that damned head of yours, least of all that I do not wish to talk to you."

He hears Thor sigh, not that he's actually deigning him a look. "Why did you feel the need to attack Midgard like you did? Where did you even get a Chitauri army?" And the oaf has learned, hasn't he? He's actually inching towards the right questions, and it scares him, makes him feel vulnerable.

He takes a deep breath, and hopes that Thor doesn't see how his hands tremble even as he clenches them together. "Why not?"

He can just _see_ Thor blinking in bewilderment. "You don't truly mean that."

"I do," he says, sending a vicious smile towards Thor. He looks stricken, for some reason; like he still sees the someone Loki used to be. (That someone is dead now; it would do him and the rest of Asgard a lot of good if they learned that.) "Your precious Midgard. It would have destroyed you had I conquered it."

"But you didn't." And now Thor is looking a lot more unsure.

"And your precious mortal, Jane Foster." He lets the smile widen. "Perhaps I should've recruited her for my project instead of Selvig. Norns know-"

"Don't you dare," Thor growls, sadness washed away with a fierce flood of anger, "talk about her. She has no place in your evil schemes." Thor storms away like the spoiled prince that he is. Loki sighs, plopping down on the surprisingly high-quality bed once he is out of sight.

Even after all this time, he can still play Thor like a fiddle. It gives him less satisfaction than he'd like.

* * *

He'd learned this during his time with Thanos: people come together and unite during times of shared duress.

It's why those mismatched Avengers hadn't self-destructed before Loki had even done anything. It's why Gamora and Nebula stay close, despite all of the darkness surrounding them.

It's why Thor and him stay apart, despite the golden prince's obvious attempts to reconcile. He simply doesn't _understand_. He doesn't know how it feels to suffer, to know that one is not in control. He doesn't know what Loki has gone through, and that has put a crack in between them.

(Loki has put a few more, but distance is better than love because love gives one hope.)

Even as he pushes anyone and everyone away, he wonders whether Thor notices, in the back of his addled mind, that something is wrong. That although Loki has always been one for drama and huge displays, he has always gone with strategy and efficiency when needed. (If he had tried, he could have defeated Midgard easily; depleted all of their water, opened the portal for the Chitauri _with his own magic_ as soon as he got there, escaped when Thor had been occupied with the Man of Iron on that cliff.) That maybe the cracks he can feel in his soul aren't just from falling through the Void, but from something more. Had he really changed so much that his own brother doesn't recognize him anymore?

No, not brother. Something else; _anything_ else. He doesn't know anymore. He doesn't know much of anything anymore.

"We are trying to help you, Brother." And there the word is again. Loki grits his teeth against the outcry that wants to burst out. He is just so tired.

"I'm past saving," he says softly, looking Thor in the eyes so that he sees that this is not one of his lies. No, not this time.

"I don't think so," Thor says, stubborn. He doesn't know when to give up, which is normally a redeeming quality; but right now, it just makes him weary.

Loki sighs. "I'm not worth saving, then." He's just so tired of fighting, of losing, of _falling_.

"I don't think that, either." There is a terrifying hope in Thor's eyes. Loki just wants to sleep and preferably never wake up.

"What _do_ you think, then?" he asks, but it doesn't have any bite to it. He's tired of seeing Thor as the enemy.

"I think that you need help, but that you're too afraid to ask." But to ask is to be weak, and weakness is always punished. ( _Not here_ , a small part of his mind whispers, but the other parts drown it out.)

"Leave me," he says, blinking down at the plain white tiles beneath his bare feet.

"But, Lo-"

"Leave me." He should scream. He should scream and tell Thor exactly what he thinks of everything. (What _does_ he think?) He should scream and rage like he deserves, should throw a blast of magic towards him even though it won't do anything. He should do so much.

But he's so tired.

Eventually, the silence becomes too much, and Thor leaves. Loki lets his thoughts take him elsewhere.

Thor had called his schemes 'evil', that one time. That means _he_ is evil, the villain in the stories who kills the innocents and is eventually defeated by the golden, sunlit hero. So it doesn't make sense that he is kept alive when others are not. Surely the sentiment in his family isn't that strong. They should know a monster when they see one; yet here he is, on full display in the glorified prisons of Asgard, like a trophy, like a warning.

Dying would have been so much easier. But he has never gotten what he wanted, has he?

* * *

He doesn't know when he realizes that he doesn't want Thor hurt, or destroyed, or broken.

No, not like _he_ surely is.

He won't be able understand him, sure; he won't be able to empathize with him (sympathy - _pity_ \- is another matter).

There will always be a divide.

But Loki would rather Thor not become like him.

* * *

He wonders how many times he's walked around this glorified cell now. It must be in the hundreds, the thousands.

He is so engulfed in this that he doesn't notice his mo- the Allmother approach the cell with a package of books, along with writing utensils and what is probably an empty journal. Loki narrows his eyes, waiting for the bribe, for the catch ( _she wouldn't do that_ , a part of him insists), but she simply sets it into the slot reserved for meals so that it is pushed to the other side of the barrier separating them.

Loki doesn't make a move towards the objects. It doesn't seem like she expects him to.

"You haven't been sleeping." He says nothing. What is there to say? "I'm concerned for you, my child, my _son_. Do not say otherwise. The circles under your eyes grow darker every passing day." He breathes in the silence. "Please talk to me."

He does. "Save your concern for your real son."

"And why can't I have two real sons?" He doesn't know, not really; just that he's not. Why do they keep asking him questions he doesn't know the answers to?

She plows through the silence. "Thor thinks you need help. I do as well, and so does your father." _Not my father._ "I know that you think you are broken, but that is not true. You are damaged, and hurt; but not broken. You are stronger than that." Is he? "You are my son, and if you just let us, we can help you."

Loki has the absurd urge to laugh. None of them get it, do they? They see the cracks inside of him, but not the fissures. "You can't fix this." He fails to suppress the crack in his voice, and presses his lips together afterwards in mortification.

(Some days, it feels as if a noose is tightening around his neck, and it's only a matter of time before it tightens completely. Some days, it feels as if he is a ghost, overstepping his time and boundaries. Other days, his lungs can't seem to expand enough.

Some days, he wishes he could tear himself apart.

Some days, he wishes he could cease to exist.

Some days, he wants to let it all out.

But he can't, and the noose keeps tightening.)

Her face softens, and she smiles, clearly humoring him, clearly not knowing about his inner turmoil. "At the very least, we can try." (Of course, sometime after that, he ruins everything with a few words, and she dies thinking that he hates her. But now, just for now, he takes what little solace he can from that statement and envelopes himself in it like the weakling he is.)

He spends the next few minutes reviewing the new books she has brought, commenting on the writers and their other works with her. He places the empty journal, quill, and inkwell aside for examination some other time. (What is there for him to write?)

He thinks a small smile graces his face, unbidden, during this time. He doesn't entirely know. But if the soft smile gracing _hers_ is any indication...

It hurts to think about, so he stops.

After she leaves, he spills the inkwell over the pristine tile just because he can, letting the black engulf the white, the darkness engulf the light. He continues walking, round and round and round. It becomes almost dizzying, trudging through the ink, letting it mark out his footprints. It reminds him of dark blood, spilling from his veins. He wonders if the quill could be used to slit his wrists, slit his throat.

Probably not, seeing as the Allmother supplied these herself. _I could certainly try_ , he thinks, finally stopping to lay down on the bed, linking his hands over his stomach and staring at the ceiling.

But he's far too tired to.

He blinks once, twice. His eyes flutter shut.

* * *

When he next wakes, all evidence of the spilled ink has disappeared, and another inkwell has been set in its place.

* * *

They are sitting on the small ship. A skiff, really.

Loki closes his eyes, breathing in the fresh, cool air. It causes the grief to well up inside of him again, and he clenches his jaw, his hands, anything to push it down. He doesn't quite succeed, but it's enough, once he focuses on his rage.

He wishes the stars were out, this one bizarre constant when everything else has drastically changed.

The trip in Svartalfheim takes longer than expected. (He didn't think he'd have time to _think_ , to let his emotions overwhelm him.) Thor shuffles behind him, obviously awake in case he decides to murder his beloved mortal as she rests. _Of course he wouldn't trust me_ , he thinks, even as resentment flows through him.

He looks down. His hands are still bound, the restraints bulky and far from comfortable. They are nothing like the slim metal ones used on the _Sanctuary_ , though, and for that he is grateful, even if Thor doesn't know it.

The wind blows softly through his hair. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling. He had taken this for granted. He had taken a _lot_ of things for granted. And now his mother is dead because of him. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Amma. What can I do? What can I do to make it up to you?_

"Loki?" He immediately stiffens, but doesn't turn around.

A hand on his right shoulder. He freezes, this time. Thor doesn't move. "You should rest."

A harsh laugh grates against his throat. "What's the point?"

"You're tired. Rest." A part of him notes with some absurd pride that Thor has finally noticed something. Another part of him has the equally absurd intention of listening to him. Yet another part of him reminds him of his nightmares, of screams and blood and chains and whips and-

He lets out a deliberately slow breath, and opens his eyes to remind himself that he is not _there_ anymore (not like his sisters, forged from torture and misery, so unlike Thor in every way but still not enough compared to him). "We should think of a plan before we get there."

Thor sends him a look at the obvious deflection, but doesn't comment on it because Loki is always right. "What do you have in mind, then?"

After Loki details a particularly dramatic course of action that involves quite a bit of acting and could get them killed several times over, Thor blinks. Once, twice, three times. "Is that the best you've got?"

Loki levels a glare at him. It is only now that he realizes how uncomfortably close they've been sitting together. "Why would I tell you all of that if it wasn't my best? Never mind that, why would I take the time to come up with a plan if it wasn't my best?"

Thor snorts, and Loki can see it in his eyes, how he is seeing the Loki that was rather than the Loki that is. He turns away quickly, settling his gaze on the distant mountains. "We're going to die."

He's half-jesting, but Loki shrugs anyways. (Isn't that the point?)

Thor lets out a laugh; obviously, he doesn't understand. "You've always been one for theatrics, Brother."

It's his turn to let out a laugh, albeit strained. "No, Thor. Not always."

* * *

His life has always been nothing compared to Thor's, so it's no surprise when he saves him from the Kursed, only to get impaled in the process.

 _Norns_ , it burns. His eyes water as the pain wracks his body, and he is barely conscious enough to realize that Thor has him cradled in his arms. (When had they last been this close? Why had Loki ever wanted to push him, to push _this_ , away?)

This is surely what he deserves. This is _exactly_ what he deserves. Yet, all he can envision right now is the little orb of his magic hung around a certain Luphomoid's neck. All he can envision is her concern when she realizes it has finally blinked out.

"I'm a fool, I'm a fool," he breathes out, because he took all of this for granted, and now it's too late, it's far too late.

Thor is crying. He feels it, more than sees it, how his breaths shudder through him even though he is not the one dying, how his hands tremble as they reach behind himself to grab his cape and wrap the red fabric around his slowly numbing body. He has this unusual feeling of _safety_ as he is dying, wrapped in his brother's arms and cape, wrapped in love and home. He doesn't think he's ever been _more_ safe; Thor is probably the only one holding the parts of him together at this point.

He uses up the last of his strength to say, "I didn't do it for him."

_"I did it for you, Father!"_

This time, it's true.

* * *

"The first time the Norns have talked to me in millennia, and it's to resurrect this pathetic soul?!"

He awakens to find himself lying face down on the ground. He coughs, and gingerly lifts his head to find a dark, unforgiving landscape. Helheim, as expected, though a part of him is disappointed that apparently dying for Thor wasn't enough for Valhalla (wasn't enough to see his mother again).

He looks to the side to see a woman standing beside him with an unimpressed expression on her face. He scrambles to his feet because the amount of power radiating off of her is, frankly, concerning.

She rolls her eyes, as if she has read his thoughts. "Welcome to the Realm of the Dead," she says blandly. Now that Loki really thinks about it, she looks a lot like him: long, black hair, green and black color scheme, the ability to make everything else seem beneath them.

Loki narrows his eyes. "Who are you?"

She waves her hand unconcernedly. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough."

They stand in awkward silence for a few seconds. "What am I supposed to be doing now that I am dead?"

"Well, I stole your soul on its way to Valhalla, so I think you were _supposed_ to be feasting 'til the end of eternity, but that isn't very fun, is it?"

Anger sweeps away his confusion. "You-!"

"I _saved_ you, alright?" She wrinkles her nose. "Never something I thought I'd say to one of _Odin's sons_."

"You have a vendetta against me? Do step in line." It takes him a few seconds to realize he hadn't objected to being called a son of Odin.

"I _know_ ," she says. "I had to deal with all of those Midgardians you killed." Loki winces, and she scoffs. "I've killed more than that a hundred times over. What you did is child's play."

Loki thinks he has it figured out now. "Well of course you have. You're Lady Death, aren't you?" He gives her a mocking bow.

Of course, he's proven wrong. "Me? Lady Death? What an honor." She looks a few seconds away from stabbing him (the look has been on _his_ face, more than once), not that it would do anything here. At least, he doesn't think so. "Have I made that much of an impression on you? No, I am simply the Goddess of Death, which is worse, really. Lady Death doesn't need to adhere to the rules, and can't be imprisoned."

"If you were adhering to the rules, I wouldn't be here right now," Loki points out.

She sighs, examining her painted-black finger nails. "Believe me, if it were up to me, you wouldn't be here, either."

Another few seconds of silence. "You are terrible company. Do all souls need to go through you? If they did, they'd be terribly bored. Have you thought of redecorating this place?"

She scowls at him, which probably hadn't been very smart of him, on hindsight, but he's dead. What can she do? "I only need to meet with souls when too many die at one time." She raises her eyebrows pointedly. "Or, in this case, if the Norns decide to intervene because they think you have a lot left to do, it's your glorious purpose, so on and so forth."

Loki blinks. Does he truly matter this much? "I...should I thank them?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I don't care."

"Why are we still talking, then? You could have resurrected me without having to meet with me." That's what Loki would've done.

"I was curious." Admittedly, that's what Loki would've felt as well, had the Norns contacted him regarding a person important enough to bend the rules of Life and Death for.

"And has your curiosity been satisfied?" he asks.

She cocks her head to the side, considering. "No," she says after a few seconds.

"Then what don't you understand?" He has the absurd urge to help her, because she is abandoned and all alone here, just like he had been once.

"You've crossed the Mad Titan." It's not a question.

Loki shivers. "I have, and I survived it. It has made me stronger." He doesn't know if those are his words or not.

She shakes her head, chuckling a little, looking at him with _pity_. He doesn't know what he did to garner that reaction from her, of all people. "Oh, darling. You are so very broken and no one cares to notice."

He looks away sharply, as if the small action can hide his still raw wounds. It's not that they don't care; it's just that they don't understand, too positive in their outlooks. They don't understand like someone who has gone through the same thing (like Nebula and Gamora, like this so-called Goddess of Death). After a few of his harsh breaths, she says, "It's fine. Everyone's broken in one way or another." _Like you?_ he wants to ask, but refrains from doing so.

He sighs. "I don't...I'm not sure if I want to return to life."

"It's not like you have a choice." It's ironic, but actually quite fitting, that one of the few people who seem to understand him is the Goddess of Death.

(He has never had choices, has never known the answers. He has simply been a pawn all of his life.)

"Life has no more to offer me," he says. He's _tired_ ; can't he just rest?

"Well, you apparently have more to offer life. They're not one and the same." She's humoring him; but right now, it feels absurdly comforting.

Still, "Life has taken and taken and taken. I can't - do it anymore. I can't," he says, voice raw, hands shaking, trembling. "There's not much left to take, at this point."

She grimaces. "So the Norns have given me a pathetic _and_ suicidal soul to resurrect. What were they thinking?" She looks up abruptly, as if to see the Norns strike her down right then and there.

When nothing happens, she seems almost...disappointed. _Takes one to know one_ , he thinks.

"Is there anything you can do?" he asks hesitantly. _Let me go to Valhalla, let me reunite with my mother and apologize and make up for it for the rest of eternity. Let me_ rest.

She shakes her head. "No. You know how the Norns are."

"They're cruel."

"But they do everything for a reason."

He takes the time to let all of this sink in, and she lets him, wandering off to do whatever. He sits down on the ground, mindless of the dark dirt that will stain his clothes. Normally, people would be overjoyed at getting a second chance at life; all he feels is so very numb.

He thinks he knows what they want; they want him to deal with Thanos. This is his punishment, for succumbing to his will, for _breaking_. Delaying him with the failed invasion was never going to be enough. He doesn't know why he ever thought so.

(Dying is certainly the easier path to take, but hardship is exactly what he deserves.)

He realizes he doesn't exactly have a death wish, not anymore.

Gamora and Nebula need him, _Thor_ needs him. His mother can wait, for a little bit more.

He may not have choices, but acceptance is less fruitless than fighting.

The Goddess of Death comes back eventually; he doesn't really keep track of the time, doesn't _need_ to, for once. Not here. "Are you ready?" she asks, as if he will ever be ready for anything life throws at him.

Loki hesitates, taking a few seconds to think about how best to say this, then figuring that, since the Norns are involved, she's going to resurrect him even if he completely offends her. "If there is a Lady Death, then what is the _Goddess_ of Death supposed to do?"

She glares at him. If looks could kill...

"Stay here, trapped. Alone. I do have some fun powers, though." She lets black light flash between her fingers as if to prove her point.

Loki is unimpressed. "So you are Lady Death's underpaid assistant and receptionist. What a distinguished job."

"Okay, you've overstayed your welcome!" She snaps her fingers, and suddenly the black light is engulfing him. He is suddenly, irrationally, cold. And afraid.

"Was I ever welcomed here in the first place?" he forces out. Sending out barbs is his defense mechanism, after all.

She, unbelievably, ignores him. "By the way, this never happened. The next time I see you, I'm probably gonna to have to counter-productively kill you and take the throne."

"What?!"

"Goodbye!"

He sits up suddenly, gasps tearing through him and a slowly dulling pain in his chest; covered in his own blood, in Thor's cloak, and surrounded by dust and Death.

* * *

Dying would be so much easier.

He thinks this, as he eases himself off the ground, gasping in pain. He looks down, prods his chest; the wound is still there, just not life-threatening anymore. He sighs, and focuses his still broken and bent magic into the wound.

He hears shuffling behind him, and immediately conjures up a knife, throwing it in the direction of the noise.

The Asgardian soldier goes down, choking on his own blood with Loki's gleaming dagger in his throat.

Loki feels a little remorse, but when he goes over to the man, the remorse disappears quite quickly. Guardsman Egil; he's never liked him very much. He grimaces as he retrieves the blade from the man's throat and cleans off the blood. Then, he uses illusionary magic to switch their appearances, so that there really is a dead body that looks like him and a living guard who looks like Egil. (Illusions break with touch, but body doubles don't adhere to those rules.)

He's a coward, and doesn't want to confront Odin as himself.

Yes, dying would have certainly been easier, but living means he can do _this._

* * *

If he had died in the Void, he wouldn't have met Gamora and Nebula, and Thanos would have won by now.

* * *

Sometimes, he doesn't think he ever stopped falling.

"What news of my sons?" Odin asks, looking so weary that Loki struggles not to look away.

"Your son has traveled to Midgard to defeat Malekith, with the mortal Jane Foster." Egil's dead body ( _his_ dead body) is laying in the hallway outside, surrounded by a few very uncomfortable guards.

Odin sighs, and this time Loki _does_ look away. The Allfather's tiredness, his open grief, hurts him in a way it shouldn't. "And what of my other son?"

Loki curls his lip. "You still call him your son, even after all he did?" Odin could probably have him executed for that, but Egil is already dead, so he supposes it doesn't really matter.

"Yes," Odin says firmly. Loki doesn't know what to say to that.

"He is dead," he decides to say after a few seconds. The other guards take that as their cue to bring the body in, and then leave just as quickly, not wanting to see the consequences. Loki focuses his gaze on the Allfather.

For a few long seconds, nobody moves.

Then, it is as if the Norns themselves have cut Odin's strings, have swept the carpet from underneath Loki's feet. The Allfather lets out a broken cry (And Loki knows how to recognize that, doesn't he?) and drops Gungnir, paying it no mind. He crosses the distance between him and what he thinks is his son's body, and this isn't right. _This isn't right._ The image is wrong, so wrong, because Odin Allfather is supposed to be strong and unwavering.

He isn't supposed to show grief. He isn't supposed to break. He isn't supposed to do any of that even after half of his proclaimed family has died.

He is supposed to be strong.

Loki can do nothing but watch as Odin (His father?) cradles the body gently, as if it is a delicate thing that will break with one wrong touch (that is _already_ broken). He should notice.

Loki's magic is not at its best, and he should notice that the body is not perfect, that _this is not his son._ The Allfather should sense the hints of his magic he couldn't quite hide, should be able to see the irregularities.

But in his very real grief, he doesn't.

"My son. Oh, my son. I am so sorry, so very sorry. I should've done _more_." He seems to have forgotten that there is someone else in the room.

Loki is frozen at the very open display of grief.

(He doesn't know why he ever thought he'd landed, on the _Sanctuary_ , in Asgard's prisons. He realizes now that it was simply a slower fall; but a fall, nonetheless.)

Odin lets his tears fall onto the dead body's face like Thor had before. He should go, reveal himself, save the Allfather his grief.

But he is a coward. So he doesn't.

"You're with your mother now. You're _safe_. You can - you can rest now. You...you..." He trails off, and Loki's eyes widen as he slumps over the body, eyes fluttering shut.

 _No no no no no._ This wasn't supposed to happen!

He rushes to his father's side and places a hand on his chest. He closes his eyes, feels it rise and fall with his breaths.

The Odinsleep, then.

This is the second time he's been the cause of it.

He notes that his hand is shaking, and wills it to still.

It doesn't. Of course it doesn't.

He could take his place, send him away like the angry part of him wants. Another part of him wants to beg for forgiveness, and yet another wants to curl up and cry and cry into his father's shoulders.

He ends up falling back on old failsafes; and, sitting on Asgard's throne with the Allfather secretly sent to Midgard, spelled to remember a completely different life, he wonders.

 _What am I doing? What am I supposed to be doing? What can I do? What should_ _I do?_

Answers escape him. The ground beneath his feet escapes him.

And he falls, again.

He doesn't think he ever stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da? Yeah, I read the quote, and immediately thought it was something Hela would say; probably because, after "Darling, you have no idea what's possible," I have now associated anything with the word 'darling' in it with Hela.


End file.
